I Once Loathed Poetry

Up until a couple of weeks ago, I loathed poetry. I didn't get into it. I would much rather get into a novel, but I am taking a class and part of our final portfolio must be 100 lines of poetry. Last night I went to a reading by Becky Gould Gibson, who by the way is awesome. I have seen the light. Probably my favorite poem was one where she had written about getting a pedicure. And during her talk, she encouraged us to right what you remember. She also gave us license to know that poetry is not always necessarily true. Well the following poem is true. I kept thinking about my grandmother, and this is what came from those thoughts.

Heaven On A Plate

Sunday morning before church,

freshly painted pink lips,

pearls adorn her neck,

perfectly coifed hair,

but, she’s still in her slip,

so as not to mess her dress.

With long, self-manicured fingers,

she sifts the flour,

adding a scoop of Crisco,

adeptly, she massages the mealy mixture,

slowly adding buttermilk,

until a soft, dough ball forms.

She plops it on waxed paper,

rolling it flat, lightly sprinkling flour

so as not to stick,

expertly, she extracts perfect flat disks,

and drops them side by side

onto the pan that waits.

Into a preheated oven they bake,

she slips on her dress,

slides into her shoes,

she glimpses at her reflection,

the luscious aroma of baking bread

fills my grandmother’s house.

She removes them from the oven,

hot, moist, and flaky,

she puts one on a plate,

adding a little butter and jam,

she places it before me,

Heaven on a plate.

© 2009 Connie Kuhn All Rights Reserved